


Panic Loves Greta!

by vixalicious



Category: Bandom, Hush Sound, Panic At The Disco
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-26
Updated: 2008-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixalicious/pseuds/vixalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panic loves Greta.  Stupidly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic Loves Greta!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I can't say how they feel about Greta. I made this all up. Don't sue me for anything, I like my house.  
> Author's Notes: I know next to nothing about The Hush Sound (except that Momentum is a great song!). I pay no attention to things like, um: timelines, tour schedules, trufax, etc. Completely un-beta'd. Written for harriet_vane's need to see the boys making dorks of themselves over a hot girl. Hope this comes close!
> 
> Originally posted on LJ.
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT: repost this story anywhere (links are fine, recs are fantastic, reposting is bad), mention it on any non-fandom site such as (but not limited to) Goodreads, or read/share any excerpt from it in any public forum (radio, television, convention, etc) without the express written permission from the author. Thank you!

They meet, unsurprisingly, at a Decaydance event. Pete's promoting something, his baby bands show up, fun and hijinks ensue - it's like it's written into their contracts. (It's not actually, Spencer checked one time, but it might as well be.) Panic at the Disco meet The Hush Sound, and it's cool, they get along. They joke about Ryan 'discovering' them, and it's all the usual bullshit, just part of Pete's usual Gang of Unruly Boys. Except. Except they aren't all boys.

The thing about Greta is it's _like_ she's one of the boys, but she's _not_. She's silly, she's in on all the pranks, she tells fantastically dirty jokes, but she does it all while wearing cute dresses and fantastic shoes. She's amazing and funny and smart, and every time she comes in a fifty foot radius of the Panic boys, they totally lose their shit.

~*~

Brendon and Greta actually have a lot in common: the singing, the piano, the childhood filled with music lessons. So theoretically, they should be able to have deep, meaningful conversations about the merits of Mozart over Tchaikovsky. Brendon actually plans these conversations in his head sometimes, the things he'll say, the points he wants to make.

The only problem is, in his plans, in this fantastic theory of his, Greta wasn't wearing a low-cut sundress. Although he has a feeling she, the Greta in his mind, will be from here on out.

"So, um. Good show tonight." _Girls don't like it when you stare at their boobs, girls don't like it when you stare at their boobs_ , Brendon repeats to himself as he stares at Greta's boobs. It was number four on the list of Things Girls Don't Like that Jon had made for him, right after Don't Jizz on Their Faces. Brendon had wanted to scratch that one out because seriously, that was one time and it was an _accident_ and it's not his fault that he learned sex ed from pornos, but Spencer had already gotten the list laminated. There are other things on the list, but Brendon can't remember them in the face of the creamy white, lusciously rounded cleavage on display less than two feet away.

"Thanks," Greta says kindly, although maybe with an edge of 'I'm talking to the village idiot.' And then she shifts, shrugs one shoulder as she says something else, and there's the errant strap of her bra, with just an edge of lace, and Brendon freezes. Later on, when his upstairs brain starts functioning again, he will curse untimely erections and too-tight jeans, but for now? For now, he just mumbles something and runs away.

~*~

Spencer doesn't do clutzy. Not since the summer his feet grew three sizes in as many months. He's got good balance, he's got spatial awareness, he's got fucking _flow_.

None of this explains what happens when he goes to talk to Darren at soundcheck about the sweet new crash he just ordered and finds Greta perched behind Darren's kit warming up with _competence and confidence_ , managing to look both demure and sexy in a tight sweater set. 

One minute he's looking at her, his hands jammed into the pockets of a white hoodie, thinking for the thousandth time that she'd be such a cool girlfriend, and the next, it's. Well, it's chaos. He trips over a cable, his feet go flying, arms akimbo. By the time he lands in a sprawl, hoodie smeared with dirt, he's done permanent damage to Darren's ride, a mic stand, and his own dignity.

Greta laughs, hard and full-bellied, for a full minute. And then she comes around the kit and helps him to his feet.

~*~

Greta speaks French. She speaks French and ASL, for no other reason than she _wanted to_. She likes art, and she reads Ayn Rand, and she's managing to tour _and_ go to college. In short, she's the kind of girl Ryan always dreamed about back in Vegas when all his contemporaries were more concerned with which casino would pay them the most to be cocktail waitresses than higher education.

So he really puts his A-game into wooing her (and he thinks of it like that - The Plan to Woo Greta): he tells her about his favorite books, he listens to her when she talks and never, ever stares at her chest (unlike _some_ people he could mention), he loans her his favorite scarf because it matches her shoes, he gives her foot rubs on the nights they all pile into one bus to watch movies on the way to the next show.

It's not until the tour rolls into Manhattan, and Greta asks him to go shopping in Soho with her, that he realizes she thinks he's gay.

~*~

Jon has a girlfriend. Jon has a great girlfriend. He loves Cassie, she's hands down the absolute _coolest_ girl in the world. She laughs at his jokes, even the dorky ones. She comes on tour with them and it's like she's part of the gang, like she gets the inside jokes. He doesn't _want_ to hit on Greta.

So it's annoying that he can't string two words together in her presence. The first time he tries, they're at a house party in Chicago, an off day on the tour. He's pouring himself a beer at the keg, and she walks up, smiles, leans in, and completely snakes his drink. "Ah, for me? You shouldn't have!"

And now would be the time for witty reparté, for a snappy comeback. Instead, he just grins and fucking giggles. Inside, the part of him that will always want pretty girls to think he's cool is headdesking repeatedly. She must think he's a giant pothead, and okay, yeah, he sort of _is_ , but he used to be better at hiding it than that. He blames the ruffly shirts Ryan keeps making him wear. 

The second time, it's even worse. Partially because, okay, he actually _is_ high this time, when she asks him if it's so different, joining the band in midstream versus being there from the beginning. And he can tell she's not being rude, she's just genuinely curious. "It's, uh. It's not bad." He waves a hand around, trying to find the right words. "It's, you know. Different."

She nods, like what he said might have made sense, or been in some way profound, or like she's humoring the stoner. It's stupid, it makes Jon feel like he's thirteen and at his first boy/girl dance all over again, and he refuses to go down like that.

Three days later, Chris casually asks Jon if he can score him some weed. Jon admits defeat.

~*~

The tour is halfway over when Greta plops down on the couch next to Chris, pouting as they watch someplace flat and rainy pass by outside the bus window. "Chris." She crosses her arms, slumping down into the seat. "Chris, I don't think the Panic boys like me."

Chris snorts, and ducks his head toward his mug of hot chocolate to hide his smile. "Oh, I don't know about that."

She tilts her head at him, frowning. "What? They just stare, they never talk to me, except for Ryan, and even he's been acting weird since New York."

"Nothing," Chris says with a straight face, the one she _knows_ means he's lying. "I'm just saying that I don't think the problem is that they don't like you." He wavers for a second before he cracks, smirking. "More like they can't manage to roll their tongues up off the floor when you're near."

"What? Oh. Oh!" Greta looks nonplussed for a moment, taking that in. It's not that they aren't cute boys, it's just she's never thought about it. She's got a boyfriend, and besides, they're like... they're like puppies. Lovable puppies that occasionally pee in your shoes. She gives Chris a tiny smile. "How mean would it be to mess with their heads?"


End file.
